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NUMBER ONE OF 



The Library of Living Poetry 



THE SUPPRESSED POEMS 



of 
Ernest Hemingway 




ORIGINALLY 
PUBLISHED IN PARIS 



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fo 3S/S- til 4 <* 








MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The Double Dealer June, 1922 



ULTIMATELY 

He tried to spit out the truth; 
Dry-mouthed at first, 
He drooled and slobbered in the end; 
Truth dribbling his chin. 



November, 1924 Der Querschnitt 

THE LADY POET WITH FOOTNOTES 

One lady poet was a nymphomaniac and wrote for Vanity 
Fair. (1) 

One lady poet's husband was killed in the war. (2) 

One lady poet wanted her lover but was afraid of having a baby. 
When she finally got married she found she couldn't have 
a baby. (3) 

One lady poet slept with Bill Keely, got fatter and fatter and 
made half a million dollars writing bum plays. (4) 

One lady poet had enough to eat. (5) 

One lady poet was big and fat and no fool. (6) 



(1) College nymph. Favorite lyric poet of leading editorial 
writer N. Y. Tribune. 

(2) It sold her stuff. 

(3) Favorite of State University male virgins. Wonderful on 
unrequited love. 

(4) Stomach's gone bad from liquor. Expects to do something 
really good soon. 

(5) It showed in her work. 

(6) She smoked cigars all right, but her stuff was no good. 



Der Querschnitt February, 1925 



THE AGE DEMANDED 

The age demanded that we sing 
And cut away our tongue. 

The age demanded that we flow 
And hamiv-.ered in the bung. 

The age demanded that we dance 
And jammed us into iron pants. 

And in the end the age was handed 
The sort of shit that it demanded. 



Hcrbst (Autumn), 1924 Der Querschnitt 



THE ERNEST LIBERAL'S LAMENT 

I know monks masturbate at night 

That pet cats screw 

That some girls bite 

And yet 

What can I do 

To set things right? 



Dcr Querschnitt Herbst (Autumn), 1924 

THE SOUL OF SPAIN 

[In the manner of Gertrude Stein] 

In the rain in the rain in the rain in the rain in Spain. 

Does it rain in Spain? 

Oh yes my dear on the contrary and there are no bullfights. 

The dancers dance in long white pants 

It isn't right to yence your aunts 

Come Uncle let us go home. 

Home is where the heart is, home is where the fart is. 

Come let us fart in the home. 

There is no art in a fart. 

Still a fart may not be artless. 

Let us fart an artless fart in the home. 

Democracy. 

Democracy. 

Bill says democracy must go. 

Go democracy. 

Go 

Go 

Go 

Bill's father never knowingly would sit down at table 

with a Democrat. 

Now Bill says democracy must go. 
Go on democracy. 
Democracy is the shit. 
Relativity is the shit. 
Dictators are the shit. 
Mencken is the shit. 
Waldo Frank is the shit. 
The Broom is the shit. 
Dempsey is the shit. 



They say Ezra is the shit. 

But Ezra is nice. 

Come let us build a monument to Ezra. 

Good a very nice monument. 

You did that nicely 

Can you do another? 

Let me try and do one. 

Let us all try and do one. 

Let the little girl over there on the corner try and do one. 

Come on little girl. 

Do one for Ezra. 

Good. 

You have all been successful children. 

Now let us clean the mess up. 

The Dial does a monument to Proust. 

We have done a monument to Ezra. 

A monument is a monument. 

After all it is the spirit of the thing that counts. 



Der Querschnitt November, 1924 



Part Two of THE SOUL OF SPAIN 

You come to Spain but do not remain. Ann Veronica, 
Marcial Veronica, Pablo Veronica, Gitanillo Veronica. No 
they cannot veronica because the wind blows. The wind blows 
and it does not snows look at the bull with his bloody nose. 

Part III 

There is no night life in Spain. They stay up late but they 
get up late. That is not night life. That is delaying the day. 
Night life is when everybody says what the hell and you do not 
remember who paid the bill. Night life goes round and round 
and you look at the wall to make it stop. Night life comes out 
of a bottle and goes into a jar. If you think how much are the 
drinks it is not night life. 

Part IV of the same story 

After a while there were no bullfights. What the hell no 
bullfights? No bullfights. No you really can't mean it no bull- 
fights. But there were no bullfights. 

Part V follows 
We got on a train and went somewhere else. 

Part V 

A serious and vivid account of a divertissement in the 
cruel sport. 

Estocada stuck well stuck. They run round in circles with 
the capes and the bull whirls round and round and then goes 
down and folds his knees under and his tongue sticks out and 
the sword sticks out dully the hilt and the bandillas stick out 
sharply at angles. Well stuck by the applauded diestro. Well 
stuck by the afamoused espada. They are going to kill him back 
of the horns with the short knife. 

Short knives are thick short knives are quickshort knives 
make a needed nick. 

I love to see the puntillo used. It is exactly like turning off 
an electric light bulb. 



The Exile, No. I ed. Ezra Pound Spring, 1927 



*NEO-THOMIST POEM 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not 
want him for long. 



*"The title 'Neo-Thomist Poem' refers to temporary embracing 
of church by literary gents — E. H." 



TEN POEMS 

from 

Three Stories and Ten Poems, 

Pari*, 1923. 



Paris, 1923 Ten Poems 



MITRAIGLIATRICE 

The mills of the gods grind slowly 

But the mill 

Chatters in mechanical staccato. 

Ugly short infantry of the mind, 

Advancing over difficult terrain. 

Making this Corona 

Their mitrailleuse. 



Ten Poems Paris, 1923 



OKLAHOMA 

All of the Indians are dead 

(a good Indian is a dead Indian) 

Or riding in motor cars — 

(the oil lands, you know, they're all rich) 

Smoke smarts my eyes, 

Cottonwood twigs and buffalo dung 

Smoke grey in the tepee — 

(or is it my myopic trachoma) 

The prairies are long, 

The moon rises 

Ponies 

Drag at their pickets. 

The grass has gone brown in the summer - 

(or is it the hay crop failing) 

Pull an arrow out: 

If you break it 

The wound closes. 

Salt is good too 

And wood ashes. 

Pounding it throbs in the night — 

(or is it the gonorrhea) 



Paris, 1923 Ten Poems 



CAPTIVES 

Some came in chains 
Unrepentant but tired. 
Too tired but to stumble. 
Thinking and hating were finished 
Thinking and fighting were finished 
Retreating and hoping were finished. 
Cures thus a long campaign, 
Making death easy 



Ten Poems Paris, 1923 



CHAMPS D'HONNEUR 

Soldiers never do die well ; 

Crosses mark the places — 
Wooden crosses where they fell, 

Stuck above their faces. 
Soldiers pitch and cough and twitch — 

All the world roars red and black; 
Soldiers smother in a ditch, 

Choking through the whole attack. 



Paris, 1923 Ten Poems 



RIPARTO D'ASSALTO 

Drummed their boots on the camion floor, 

Hob-nailed boots on the camion floor. 

Sergeants stiff, 

Corporals sore. 

Lieutenant thought of a Mestre whore — 

Warm and soft and sleepy whore, 

Cozy, warm and lovely whore; 

Damned cold, bitter, rotten ride, 

Winding road up the Grappa side. 

Arditi on benches stiff and cold, 

Pride of their country stiff and cold, 

Bristly faces, dirty hides — 

Infantry marches, Arditi rides. 

Grey, cold, bitter, sullen ride — 

To splintered pines on the Grappa side 

At Asalone, where the truck-load died. 



Ten Poems Paris, 1923 

MONTPARNASSE 

There are never any suicides in the quarter among people one 
knows 

No successful suicides. 

A Chinese boy kills himself and is dead. 

(They continue to place his mail in the letter rack at the Dome) 

A Norwegian boy kills himself and is dead. 

(No one knows where the other Norwegian boy has gone) 

They find a model dead 

Alone in bed and very dead. 

(It made almost unbearable trouble for the concierge) 

Sweet oil, the white of eggs, mustard and water soapsuds and 
stomach pumps rescue the people one knows. 

Every afternoon the people one knows can be found at the cafe. 



Paris, 1923 Ten Poems 



OILY WEATHER 

The sea desires deep hulls — 
It swells and rolls. 
The screw churns a throb — 
Driving, throbbing, progressing. 
The sea rolls with love 
Surging, caressing, 
Undulating its great loving belly. 
The sea is big and old — 
Throbbing ships scorn it. 



Ten Poems Paris, 1923 



T. ROOSEVELT 

Workingmcn believed 

He busted trusts, 

And put his picture in their windows. 

"What he'd have done in France!" 

They said. 

Perhaps he would — 

He could have died 

Perhaps, 

Though generals rarely die except in bed, 

As he did finally. 

And all the legends that he started in his life 

Live on and prosper, 

Unhampered now by his existence. 



Paris, 1923 Ten Poems 



ALONG WITH YOUTH 

A porcupine skin 

Stiff with bad tanning, 

It must have ended somewhere. 

Stuffed horned owl 

Pompous 

Yellow eyed; 

Chuck-wills- widow on a biassed twig 

Sooted with dust. 

Piles of old magazines, 

Drawers of boys letters 

And the line of love 

They must have ended somewhere. 

Yesterdays tribute is gone 

Along with youth 

And the canoe that went to pieces on the beach 

The year of the big storm 

When the hotel burned down 

At Seney, Michigan. 



Ten Poems Paris, 1923 



CHAPTER HEADING 

For we have thought the larger thoughts 
And gone the shorter way. 

And we have danced to devil's tunes, 
Shivering home to pray; 

To serve one master in the night, 
Another in the day. 



The Little Review, Final Number May, 1929 



VALENTINE 

For a Mr. Lee Wilson Dodd and Any of His Friends 
Who Want It. 

Sing a song of critics 

pockets full of lye 

four and twenty critics 

hope that you will die 

hope that you will peter out 

hope that you will fail 

so they can be the first one 

be the first to hail 

any happy weakening or sign of quick decay. 

(All very much alike, weariness too great, 

sordid small catastrophes, stack the cards on fate, 

very vulgar people, annals of the callous, 

dope fiends, soldiers, prostitutes, 

men without a gallus*) 

If you do not like them lads 

One thing you can do 

Stick them up your lads 

My Valentine to you. 






Dcr Querschnitt Hcrbst (Autumn), 1924 

THE SOUL OF SPAIN 
[In the manner of Gertrude Stein] 

In the rain in the rain in the rain in the rain in Spain. 

Does it rain in Spain? 

Oh yes my dear on the contrary and there are no bullfights. 

The dancers dance in long white pants 

It isn't right to yence your aunts 

Come Uncle let us go home. 

Home is where the heart is, home is where the fart is. 

Come let us fart in the home. 

There is no art in a fart. 

Still a fart may not be artless. 

Let us fart an artless fart in the home. 

Democracy. 

Democracy. 

Bill says democracy must go. 

Go democracy. 

Go 

Go 

Go 

Bill's father never knowingly would sit down at table 

with a Democrat. 

Now Bill says democracy must go. 
Go on democracy. 
Democracy is the shit. 
Relativity is the shit. 
Dictators are the shit. 
Mencken is the shit. 
Waldo Frank is the shit. 
The Broom is the shit. 
Dempsey is the shit. 



They say Ezra is the shit. 

But Ezra is nice. 

Come let us build a monument to Ezra. 

Good a very nice monument. 

You did that nicely 

Can you do another? 

Let me try and do one. 

Let us all try and do one. 

Let the little girl over there on the corner try and do one. 

Come on little girl. 

Do one for Ezra. 

Good. 

You have all been successful children. 

Now let us clean the mess up. 

The Dial does a monument to Proust. 

We have done a monument to Ezra. 

A monument is a monument. 

After all it is the spirit of the thing that counts. 



-****" 



V 



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